Demonsbane
by Obstreperous Wookie
Summary: Mika is on the run from men with black eyes. Riley and Finn aren't close enough to help, which leaves Mika with only one other option: two brothers who know more about demons than anyone else.
1. Black Eyes

Disclaimer: The Winchesters are not my characters.

A/N: This is set after _And So It Begins_ , so if you haven't read the Riley adventures, then it might not make a whole lot of sense :)

* * *

 **MIKA**

I suppose it started out like any other run-of-the-mill catastrophe—boring, innocuous. I didn't expect life to punch me in the gut and tear my carefully constructed world to shreds.

The worst part, though? I never even saw it coming.

Like most of the kids my age, my day started way too early. I got up. I went to school. I came home. I did homework. I went to bed.

Unlike most of the kids my age, I liked my soul-sucking routine. It was boring. It was mundane.

It was normal.

All the way up until it wasn't. But that comes later.

So there's a guy at my school. I like him. It's the first time in my life I've been in the same school long enough to like a guy.

His name is Ben.

Most of the time, he wears jeans and a t-shirt. I know this not because I stalk him, but because we have four classes together. And really, it's a crime to look that good in just jeans and a t-shirt.

Missouri, the psychic I'm staying with, says I can't date until I'm sixteen. But that's a whole ten months away, so I've got a lot of time to figure out how to get Ben to like me.

Riley once told me that boys are gross. But then again, Riley once waited around for months while her boyfriend was in a coma, so boys can't be that gross.

Of course, she wasn't all wrong. Most boys are gross. Jeremy Turner, for example, is a pig. I've seen him leering at girls' butts in the hallways. Sometimes he even whistles if their skirts are short enough. He's a football player, so maybe that's just part of his more primitive DNA.

I never did get why people like looking at butts. Then again, Riley says it just takes the butt of that one special person and...bam! You can't stop looking. Riley says a lot of weird stuff like that about Finn. He's my brother, though, so when I meet him, I'm going to keep my eyes off his butt.

Back to Ben, though.

He was nice. He smiled a lot, joked a lot. He got good grades, played soccer. He had shaggy red hair, and when he wore a baseball cap backwards, it stuck out at funny angles. He was just all around the perfect guy. And I never once had the courage to talk to him.

Until today.

School got out at three, like always. I stuck around for a little bit, talking with one of the girls in my English class about a project we were assigned together. We hashed out a tentative schedule and parted ways.

I was about to leave when I got a feeling. I get feelings a lot. Sometimes they lead to something, sometimes not. This one was important, though. I could tell. So I turned around and wandered back down the halls, until I felt the weird mental tug again. I was outside the boys locker room. Awesome. There was no way this could end well.

Taking a deep breath, I glanced around to make sure I wouldn't be seen and pushed open the door.

When I first walked in, I was met with a barrage of sweaty boy smell. It was bad enough that I wanted to pinch my nose and simultaneously flee. But there was a dull thump followed by a small cry. Yep, someone was getting hit. No way I could just leave now.

I rounded the bank of lockers and stopped. Jeremy Turner and two of his friends were beating up another boy. His friends were pinning the boy's arms and Jeremy was in the midst of punching him.

Jeans, t-shirt. Shaggy red hair. Holy crap. The guy they were beating up was Ben.

Anger flooded through me, and I wondered if maybe it was impeding my good sense. I took a bold step forward. "Is this what you spend your time doing?" I asked brightly. As opening statements go, it wasn't super witty. But then again, I wasn't very good at clever quips. That was Riley's thing, and Riley's thing only.

Jeremy turned, hand paused mid flight. He looked confused. "What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

I smiled sweetly at him, twirling a lock of hair around my finger. "Looking for you, of course!" I put a lot of schmooze in my voice, wondering if that would work. Apparently it did, because he lowered his hand and took a couple steps towards me.

Okay. So far so good.

The next part would be a lot harder. However, I'd seen Riley do this before. If I played my cards right, I just might be able to pull it off.

I walked towards Jeremy, smiling and staring deep into his eyes. His eyes were looking quite a bit lower than my face, so he didn't really notice, but that was okay. When I reached him, I laced my hands together and smashed them into his gut. He doubled over. Then I grabbed a handful of his crunchy, hair-jelled spikes and shoved his head lower.

Jeremy's face, let me introduce Mika's knee. Bam! The impact jarred my knee painfully, but Jeremey dropped like a rock, which made it worth it.

"My eyes are up here, asshole," I said, moving past him.

The guy holding Ben's right arm let go, moving towards me with a scowl. I slipped one strap of my backpack off my shoulder, letting the bag slide down my other arm. Then I swung the thing with all my might, hitting the advancing guy and knocking him down as well.

The third guy, holding Ben's left arm, let go. He held his hands up and took a step back. Smart move, bucko.

Ben fell to his knees, swiping blood from his nose. He looked like he wanted to cry. I didn't blame him. Getting the snot beat out of me by the vampires had made me want to cry a lot, too.

"Get out," I told the third boy scathingly. My voice was ice and wrath. I'd gotten that trick from Riley, too. Hers was better than mine, but mine was still scary. At least, I thought so.

The third boy shuffled by me, turning sideways to avoid getting too near. He pulled the guy I'd hit with my backpack up, and they beat it.

I walked up to Ben and held a hand out to help him up. "You okay?" I asked him. He rocketed to his feet and shoved past me without a word, hurrying out of the locker room.

I flung my hands up, turning to watch him disappear through the doorway. "Seriously?" And here I was thinking that _women_ were supposed to be the hormonal enigmas.

I stomped towards the door, fuming that I'd ripped a backpack strap for nothing when Jeremy caught my ankle. "Payback is coming, bitch," he spat, face twisted up in pain.

I shook my foot free, leaned down, and made my face cold. "I've seen things that would make you piss yourself, Jeremy Bentham Robert Turner. You're nothing but a bully, so don't think for one second that you actually scare me...bitch."

I walked out of school feeling pretty good about myself. I wanted to call Riley and tell her that I'd just had my first Bad-ass moment, but I couldn't.

I couldn't talk to Riley. Not after what I'd helped her do.

"Excuse me, miss?" a man called out behind me. I froze. Had someone seen the fight on a security camera? It was in a locker room, which probably legally couldn't be put under surveillance. Crap. What did he want?

I turned slowly, making my face as innocent as possible. "Yes?"

"Are you Mika McAllister?" he asked.

I froze. No one knew that name. I was Mika Atherton here.

"Sorry, I think you have the wrong person," I said after a too long moment of hesitation.

The man blinked his eyes and they were suddenly all black. I stared at him for a long second, and then I tried to run. Tried being the operative word. I didn't get very far before an invisible force yanked me off my feet and sent me flying through the air.

I hit the side of a car hard enough to see stars as I fell to the ground.

The pavement stung my hands and knees as I hit, but I was already on my feet and running before the pain registered. Thank goodness I was in boots, albeit cute yet functional cowboy boots, instead of the cheap flip-flops I'd originally thought about wearing.

Black eyes. Black eyes. I didn't know what that meant, but a feeling of dread curled in the pit of my stomach. Bad news. Whatever was chasing me was really bad news.

I sprinted through the parking lot, ducking and dodging between rows of cars. I ran in a zig-zag pattern with no real plan. Eventually though, I reached the end of the parking lot. Hunching behind the last car, I peered out across the two lane road of traffic.

Both the high school and the middle school were on the same road, so cars passed back and forth in a crazy stream as parents travel to and from picking up their kids.

I hesitated, wondering if I would survive a mad dash. The speed limit was technically only supposed to be twenty miles per hour here, but from a pedestrian standpoint, even that seemed fast.

Footsteps sounded behind me, and I was hit with a vision. I saw a truck, slamming onto its brakes. A horrified teenager was behind the wheel. "Get out of the way," he was mouthing, probably yelling, inside the cab of his truck. But I didn't, and the truck slammed into my body, sending me skidding down along the pavement.

My eyes snapped open, and I lunged to my feet. To my left, the same truck I had just seen exited the parking lot, accelerating quickly and noisily in a manner typical of a teenage driver. I waited, hearing the footsteps draw closer behind me.

I waited still, seconds ticking by, even though all the hair on my arms was standing up straight. Then, finally, I felt it. _Now!_ my brain screamed at me. So I ran.

I darted straight across the sidewalk into traffic, feeling the fingers of the man brush the back of my sweat soaked t-shirt. He followed me a second later.

However sporadic and confusing my gift was, it kept me out of danger. I darted into traffic and managed to find the two perfect gaps between cars in both lanes of traffic. The man following me was not so lucky.

Behind me, brakes squealed followed by a meaty thump.

I hopped the curb, ran across the sidewalk, and entered yet another parking lot. Once I was there, I picked a car at random and hid behind it.

Crouching low behind a tire, I tried to calm down. It was impossible. I was breathing fast and hard as I peeked out to look at what I'd done. Cars were stopped. I could see the man chasing me. He was lying limp on the road, his body still and broken. As people got out of their cars and started to gather, concerned chatter filled the air.

The driver was standing at the front of his truck, staring down in shock. "He just ran right in front of me," he kept repeating over and over.

I pulled back behind the car, trying hard not to think about the lifetime of nightmares I'd just condemned him to. I'd just orchestrated someone's death, and I'd used that poor kid to do it.

Pulling out my phone with badly shaking hands, I dialed the number I knew by heart. I pressed the phone tightly to my ear as it dialed, and I waited, wiping my running nose on my sleeve.

Then it connected. "Riley?" I gasped out, tears running down my face. "I think I killed someone."

There was a pause, and my heart beat hard inside my chest as I awaited her response.

"Well, shit," she drawled, in typical Riley fashion. Then she cleared her throat. "Get somewhere safe. We're on our way."

 _We're on our way. We're on our way. We're on our way._

The words rattled around my head as I hung up and started to hyperventilate. They wouldn't get here on time. The feeling swamped over me, too harsh and full and overwhelming to be anything other than my gift.

Get somewhere safe. Cameras. There had been cameras in the school parking lot. They would have recorded what had happened. Parts of it anyway. Anyone or anything that was after me would be able to trace me back to Missouri's. I couldn't go there. Couldn't put her in danger.

Safe? Where would I be safe?

A vision swamped over me, making my stomach flip and my head spin. "It's okay," a rough voice whispered through the darkness surrounding me. I couldn't see anything, but I heard just fine. "I got you. Hang in there." Warmth surrounded me as strong arms lifted me off the ground. "Stay with me, kiddo. Just stay with me."

Hard asphalt prickled against my legs, pulling me back to reality. The smell of burnt rubber trickled over me, making me want to vomit. The driver had slammed on the brakes, but he hadn't been able to stop in time. That was my fault. He'd killed someone, and it was my fault for making it happen.

I tilted over, forearm stinging as it slapped against the asphalt, and I emptied my stomach. I was a killer. God, that was such a horrible feeling. Now I knew why Riley always seemed so sad and broody after killing the vampires. It hurt something inside of me to know that I had taken a life.

But I had bigger issues at the moment.

Heaving myself upright, I fumbled with my phone. I had recognized the voice from my vision, and Riley had made sure to put the man's number in my phone. I didn't know him that well, but Riley trusted him with her life.

The phone rang and rang. Nobody answered. When the voice message came on, I hung up with a sob. Fingers flying, I found the second contact Riley had put in the phone. If one brother didn't answer, maybe the other would.

"Hello?" came a sleepy voice. I remembered it well, even though we hadn't talked very much.

"Sam?" I choked out. "There was a man. Black eyes. He tried to...I don't know. He was chasing me. Threw me against a car without using his hands. His eyes...they were black. All black. I don't know what he wanted. I killed him. I think I killed him. Had a vision. Dean was in it. Saved me. Where are you?"

My vision was starting to get fuzzy around the edges. I was hyperventilating.

I vaguely heard Sam speaking. I couldn't focus on the words, though. They went in one ear and floated out the other to join the clouds.

"Sam," I whispered. "I killed him." I leaned back around the tire, catching a glimpse of the body again. The head was pointed my direction, and empty eyes stared at me. I couldn't see very well because of the distance, but I could see that his eyes were no longer black.

"Please help me," I whispered.


	2. Winchesters

Disclaimer: Teen Wolf characters are not mine. Whoa. Nope, wrong story. Supernatural characters are not mine.

A/N: Nursing school starts in less than a month. I don't know how good I'll be about updating when that happens. Sorry.

* * *

Sam and Dean were coming. They were only a seven or so hours away. How the heck they just happened to be so close was beyond me, but I wasn't complaining.

Actually, I wasn't doing much of anything.

They'd told me to look up the first motel in the phone book. I had. That was where we'd meet when they got here. Then they'd told me to ditch my phone. I'd done that too.

Now I was just waiting.

Because I couldn't handle just sitting on my hands while I waited, I decided to do some research.

My mother had worked with me pretty extensively on how to research. And, for the last couple of years, she'd pawned the duty off on me entirely.

I didn't have a laptop, so I went to the first place I could think of with computers. And actually, the public library was only a twenty minute walk from the school. The walk gave me time to calm down and pull myself together.

By the time I walked up the library steps, I was back in business. I wandered around a bit, pretending to be interested in the books before making a beeline for the computers. The library made them free to use. I signed in under a fake name and went to work.

My mother and I had come up with a pretty good system. She Hunted the monsters and I researched. I was pretty dang good at it, too. I figured out what we were facing, and she took 'em down.

When I was younger, I used be indignant when she'd leave me in whatever skeevy motel room we were staying in. But the older I got, the more I appreciated what we had. I didn't want to kill monsters. I didn't want to kill anything. I was just fine doing the research and knowing that I was indirectly helping people with my work.

I didn't appreciate it right now, though. When the man had grabbed me, I had panicked. One, I hadn't known what I was facing. And two, even if I had known, it wouldn't have helped. My mind had gone blank and all I had done was run away.

Riley wouldn't have run away. Riley would have kicked the crap out of whatever it was. That much I was sure of.

Still, I couldn't shake the sense of unease that the unknown monster created. He'd known who I was. Maybe even what I was. Which meant that I needed to learn everything I could about him or his kind.

I'd never encountered black eyes before. Neither had my mother, I was sure of it. She had kept a running log of our Hunts on a zip drive. Mostly just so we wouldn't have to do the research again in case we had a repeat case. Black eyes, though. That was completely new.

I Googled every variation of "black eyes" and "telekinesis" that I could think of. I even looked at some of the more obscure websites where I'd found lore before. Nothing.

I didn't know what that man was or why he was able to fling me through the air with his mind.

Then it dawned on me that I was in a library. An old episode of Doctor Who once proclaimed that books were the best weapons in the world.

As I headed into the mythology section, I couldn't help but agree. Knowledge was powerful. Knowledge made human dangerous when faced with things that go bump in the night.

I kept thumbing through books, bypassing the traditional greek and roman myths in favor of more arcane sources. It wasn't long before I'd worked down the shelves, through the entire section and into another. And that section...that was where I found my answer.

It was a tiny sketch—old and hidden in the back of the book, squished into the margins beside beautifully flowing script. It was a pair of eyes, gazing out at me. Only they were all black, intentionally matching exactly what I'd seen in the man's face.

I traced a finger down the text, trying to decipher photocopied nineteenth century cursive scrawl. It was beautiful but hella hard to read. There was a lot of "Brother this and Brother that" tossed in with some latin. But I did pick out a couple of words from the bunch, and they made my stomach shrivel.

Black eyes. Demon possession.

I tipped my head up, looking for the heading on the bookshelf. I had moved out of the mythology section, and now the neatly printed letters told me everything I needed to know. "Religion," the label said.

Good Lord, I had a demon chasing me. Most likely because I was a second generation psychic. I didn't know what it wanted, but it couldn't be good.

Holy crap, demons.

If demons were real, then that meant angels were real. Demons were, after all, fallen angels. And if angels were real, then that meant there really was a big man up in the sky.

I knew Riley believed in God. She prayed a lot and things seemed to get better because of it. But I'd never given much thought past what I'd seen on TV and such. Jemma wasn't exactly the Sunday morning church type person.

It was something I'd look into later. I would have to gather evidence and make an informed decision. But for right now, I had bigger things to deal with.

I closed the book after finding nothing more of value. There wasn't a lot of information past "Lucifer's touch" and pitch black eyes. There was a very brief mentioning of holy water, but I didn't know how to get my hands on any.

The library closed at seven. I walked out ten minutes before seven, snagging a black hoodie from the lost-and-found bin. Dropping my backpack on the ground, I put the hoodie on and flipped up the hood. Then I slung my broken backpack over one shoulder and began the long, slow walk to the College Motel.

I was too young to be able to rent a room, not to mention I had no money. So when I got there, I sat on the bench facing the main parking lot and pulled my knees up to my chest.

I probably looked like a runaway, if I was being honest. I was wearing an oversized black hoodie, ripped jeans, and brown cowboy boots. And I was toting a faded, battered backpack around with me.

The horrible part though? I was a runaway.

Exhaustion swamped me, followed by a heavy sense of helplessness. It was kind of a familiar feeling, though I had never once felt it for the entire month and a half I'd stayed with Missouri. She had trained me, taught me. She had made me feel safe, made me feel powerful and in control.

But that was gone again. I was on the run and I had no idea how to keep myself safe. The last time I'd felt like this was when the vampires had been chasing me and Riley.

Settling my chin on my knees, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay. I was crying. Again. Stupid. This was so stupid. Riley wouldn't turn into a blubbering mess. She would be brainstorming a way to kick butt.

She was strong and capable, and I wanted nothing more than to be her. But I wasn't Riley. A week spent watching her destroy vampire after vampire proved that.

I sniffed, using the sweatshirt sleeve to swipe at my runny nose. Okay. No more pity party. I was going to sit here and use the time to come up with a plan. Yeah. That was good.

A plan…

Just me, sitting here, thinking of a plan.

I closed my eyes again, but I didn't think of a plan. Instead, I fell asleep.

A swarthy rumbling woke me up. I raised my head just in time to see a car pull into the parking spot in front of my bench. It was black and beautiful. I recognized it instantly.

The engine cut off and the driver door opened. Dean Winchester rocketed halfway out of the car. "You okay?" he called. The concern in his voice made my stomach shrivel up.

I nodded.

The Winchesters got out and carried their stuff into the room behind me. I followed mutely, sitting in a crappy motel chair while they settled in. Sam gave me a plastic grocery bag. In it were basic supplies. Shampoo, conditioner. A hairbrush. Deodorant. Toothpaste and a toothbrush. Best of all, a plain gray t-shirt.

I clutched the bag to my chest and practically ran into the crappy bathroom. I took a quick shower, and then got out, almost tearing up as I pulled on the new shirt. It was way too big, but I didn't care. The new shirt could have been neon orange with the word "Loser" plastered on the front for all I cared. It was clean and soft, and I loved it.

My current shirt used to be white. Now it was of an indecipherable color, torn in a couple places, and stained with sweat and dirt. In fact, I was surprised that no one at the library had confronted me about my appearance.

When I exited the bathroom, I thanked Sam. He just shrugged with a small smile. I settled back in the chair, using the brush to detangle my hair.

Dean tossed his duffel bag on a bed and sat on the end of it, facing me. Uh oh. That meant we were in business mode. "What happened?" he asked grimly, staring me down with green-eyed laser focus.

I shivered, wrapping my arms around my knees. "A man showed up at school. He asked who I was...but he knew my name. My real name, not the one I've been going by at school. And then his eyes turned black and he threw me into a car without even touching me. I didn't know what that meant, but I ran, because I knew if he caught me, then something very bad would happen."

I scrunched my eyes shut, dropping my forehead onto my knees. Black eyes flashed through my mind. I saw them every time I closed my eyes. They were wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

Swallowing convulsively, I continued my story. "I ran through the parking lot towards the road. And I had a vision of a truck coming, one that wouldn't be able to slow down in time. So I ran into traffic right before it, and the man tried to follow. He got hit by the truck."

I looked up, wanting to see their faces. "I killed him." I peered from brother to brother, searching for the disgust and judgement that I deserved.

Sam and Dean just looked a little stunned. Then Dean shrugged. "Well, I guess that's one way of taking care of a—"

"Demon?" I asked, cutting him off in a slightly terrified, reedy voice.

His forehead wrinkled. "Yeah."

I looked down at my scuffed cowboy boots. "I researched...while I waited for you guys to get here. I found an old, nineteenth century reference to demons." I closed my eyes again, fighting back another shudder. "Do they really possess people?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Yes," he said softly.

A stray thought pinged through my brain, along with a twist of fear. "What do you think a demon could do if it possessed a psychic?"

Sam and Dean traded a look. "Nothing good," Dean muttered. He rummaged around in his pocket, pulling out a leather cord with a weird pentagram type symbol on it. "Put this around your neck. It'll ward against possession until we can get you a tattoo."

My eyes widened and I shook my head slightly. Sam pulled down the collar of his shirt. There just beneath his collarbone was the same pentagram symbol surrounded by wavy looking flames. "You don't want to be possessed. Trust me." His face pinched slightly, and Dean's face turned grim and flat and just a little dangerous.

Dean stood, clearing his throat before smacking Sam's arm with the back of his hand. "You should sleep."

Sam gave a token protest, but it didn't take a genius to tell how haggard he was. He started shedding his multiple layers of jacket and plaid and then headed to the bathroom with his duffel.

It wasn't long before he came out again and flopped onto the bed with a happy groan. His long legs shifted slightly, and eventually, he went still, breaths evening out.

Dean sat at the table, cleaning his gun. I watched in fascination as he disassembled it into a bajillion different pieces. After running a cloth through it and oiling different pieces, Dean calmly put it back together. Sometimes he didn't even have to look at what he was doing. One such time, he caught me watching.

Hefting the finished product in one hand, he eyed me. "Ever held a gun before?"

Jemma had never let me so much as touch one, but Riley had. I nodded. "When Riley went to talk to the main vampire, she gave me hers and barricaded me into the bathroom, just in case."

Dean's face went all blank again, and it kind of scared me. It was a cold, dangerous expression. Riley got it sometimes, when she was preparing to go kill stuff. She didn't like killing, but she'd done a lot of it to protect me. I'd seen that face from her way too much that week. But she'd powered through and got the job done.

Just like she had with Jemma.

I propped my chin on my knees. "Have you ever noticed how Riley is like...like...Sarah Connor?"

Dean looked up sharply, raising his eyebrows quizzically. "From _Terminator_?"

I nodded slowly. "Like, at first she might have been kind of scared and innocent, but then she somehow turned into a badass. Because she kind of had to." Then, because doing nothing was killing me, I unfolded my legs from the chair and pulled my backpack close.

Opening it up, I pulled out my notebook. Because I had entered the school year late, I'd been relegated to take one of the lame classes that meant nothing, just because there had been open seats in it. My least favorite class was called "Self Studies." It focused entirely too much on self discovery and self image. Each day, the teacher would draw from a jar of prompts and tuck the little slip of paper into our notebooks. Each day, we would be required to journal about that prompt and turn in the notebook the next morning.

Flipping open the front page, I snagged the paper slip and unfolded it. "Create a comparison chart of pros and cons. These are things you are proud of and not proud of. The focus should be on your actions, talents, flaws, etc. As you explore your self concept, reflect on what kind of person you are shaping up to be," I read softly to myself.

I stared down at the notebook with a frown. Then I thumbed through it for the nearest empty page. It was stupid, doing homework when I was never going back to that school, but I needed it. I needed the normalcy.

I drew a giant T, labeling one side pros and the other cons.

Pros. I fingered my pen, rubbing it with my thumb as I brainstormed. My mind went blank, so I moved to the Cons list.

Cons. Things I was not proud of. Oh boy. I didn't have to think very hard for this one. I gripped my pen tight and started writing.

 _Unashamedly jay walk on a daily basis._

 _Once chose to eat three burritos when traveling for multiple hours in a tiny vehicle._

 _Maddeningly unable to talk to the boy I like until flush with adrenaline from a fight._

 _Can see the future, have not tried predicting the Lotto._

 _Faked appendicitis so my mother could steal a prescription tablet from the doctor's office._

 _Broke the school's rules and went in the Boys' locker room._

 _Beat up three bullies in aforementioned locker room._

 _Once ran away from my mother and got kidnapped._

 _Uselessly watched as a friend was forced to kill multiple vampires to keep me safe._

 _Have buried a vampire in the woods._

 _Once cleaned up a murder crime scene._

 _Purposely ran into traffic and got someone killed._

 _Have…_

My heart beat hard, and my fingers cramped around the pen. The world seemed to slow down around me. Full of shame and self loathing, I forced myself to pen the one thing that had been weighing on me for a while now.

 _Have helped a friend frame my mother in order to send her to prison._

Unexpected tears pricked my eyes, and I glared at the paper. Reflect on what kind of person I was shaping up to be, huh? Well, there was no denying it.

"I'm a horrible person," I croaked, flinging my notebook and pen away with a sudden vengeance.

Then I slammed my face into my palms and tried to hold back the floodgate of tears.

There was a creak of a chair followed by a rustle of paper. Dean was picking up my notebook. Normally, I would have freaked out, not wanting anyone else to read my private thoughts, but at the same time, I just didn't care anymore.

A few minutes later, there was a weird whistling rustle and the notebook hit my feet. Shoulders slumped, I peeked at it. Then I picked it up. The pros column was no longer empty. Scrawled in messy, but legible, letters were three bullet points.

 _Fights bullies._

 _Saved Riley's family._

 _Has seen_ Terminator _movies._

I set the notebook down but couldn't meet Dean's eyes, so I turned and snuggled sideways in my chair. Then I tried my hardest to fall asleep instead of breaking into hysterical sobs.

It was almost laughable, the thought that occured to me next. I was fifteen, but in that moment, I missed someone terribly. There was no sad, little "I want my mommy." No. I wanted Riley. I wanted Riley so badly it hurt. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted her to hug me. To set her chin on the top of my head and tell me, "I got this" in that unwavering confidence she possessed.

 _Please let her be here soon_ , I said mentally, sending it up as some kind of prayer. _I need her._


	3. Crossroads

Disclaimer: Winchesters are not my characters.

A/N: Woah. Long time, no story. So sorry. Anyways, classes are done. Summer has started. Writing has commenced. :) Reviews are, as always, very welcome. Special thanks to Mhank and Writersblock2014 for getting me going. :)

* * *

Sleep is a fickle mistress.

When I want to sleep, I can't shut my brain off.

When I don't want to sleep, my eyes are too heavy to keep open.

Deep sleep is supposed to allow the brain to unwind and decompress. It's supposed to bridge the gap between the conscious and the subconscious. Or so psychologists theorize.

In my case, that's a load of Bullpoop. Capital B.

When I sleep—truly sleep, not just nap—I dream. When I dream, I either relive the hell I went through with the vampires or I watch the future unfold.

Both options suck. One of them more literally than the other.

As much fun as knowing the future might be, it's also horrible.

Try watching a vampire garot himself on razor wire ten different times and then have to turn around and string the wire up at the correct height, just so you can watch it again in real life. It sucks.

Plus, the future isn't cut in stone. At least not the way I see it. I see snippets—flashes of what could be.

Sometimes I can change it. Sometimes not. Sometimes I see four different endings to the same story. Sometimes I see four different stories with the same ending.

It's enough to drive a girl mad.

That's where Missouri had helped. She'd taught me control. It wasn't how to pull visions from thin air. I did that enough on my own. No, Missouri had taught me how not to have visions. She'd taught me how to hold off the 3D, Surround Sound mental takeovers and how to pare them down to more finely-tuned feelings. It was supposed to keep me from going insane. Like, really for real insane.

The feelings, the urges, the small tugs of instinctual guidance—they didn't bring madness with them. Or if they did, it was at a slower rate. Watching the future from a front-row seat...well, let's just say she had warned me that it was too good to be true. She'd said that if God had wanted us to have that kind of knowledge, he'd have built the human mind with an ability to withstand the side effects.

But he hadn't. So I was stuck trying to find a way to stop the visions and keep myself sane. I was getting pretty good at it, too, barring the necessity of visions to keep Riley and her family alive. Most of the time, if I didn't want to see the future, then I just didn't.

Which is why sleep is such a fickle mistress. Missouri had taught me how to take control of my mind. But with sleep…with sleep, all that control goes right out the window.

Missouri had said I'm young, just coming into my power. She'd said I'd have to build my mind into a rock-solid fortress, but that it would take years to be in control of my mind when I'm both asleep and awake.

So, for now, the dreams and visions reign terror when I sleep.

But, like always, my eyes still got heavy even as my mind screamed against the dark descent.

I shifted in the chair, still trying to fight the inevitable. Not for long, though. Sleep came, just like it always does.

With it came dreams of Riley. Usually those were the good ones. This time...not so much. I saw Riley, and I saw death.

Lots and lots of death. Mostly hers. Sometimes mine.

There was something else in my dream, though. A flash, barely a glimpse. I was standing in a room, and it was dark and damp. Somewhere around me, water dripped against the concrete floor in a slow pattern. The sound echoed loudly, adding another ominous layer to the cold, dank feeling that blanketed the room.

 _Drip...drip...drip._

I was shaking, but I didn't know why. Looking down, I saw my cowboy boots, smeared with blood. But that wasn't just it. My hand was clenched around a knife. The blade had a strange shape. A wicked-looking long, narrow tip gave way to a wavy, serrated portion, and the handle looked like it was made of some kind brownish bone or wood. There was blood coating the blade; blood coating my hand.

 _Drip...drip...drip_ , went the blood as thick droplets slowly formed on the tip of the knife and then plummeted down to loudly strike the damp, dark concrete floor.

I yanked my hand back as if shocked with electricity, and the knife dropped to the floor in slow motion. It clanked loudly as it hit, vibrating and rocking side to side from the impact until it finally fell still.

I tore my eyes off the bloody blade and looked up, catching sight of myself in a half-shattered pane of glass. Blood. I was covered in blood. It was splattered over my face and my clothes. I reached out towards my bloody reflection with a shaking finger, but the moment fingertip touched the glass, I woke up.

My eyes snapped open, and I let out a shuddered breath. Fear flooded through me, one last parting shot from the grisly scenes my mind had conjured.

Climbing out of the chair with stiff legs, I hobbled to the bathroom. Planting my hands on the edges of the sink, I leaned forward and tried to force the panic down.

It wasn't real. It hadn't happened yet. I wasn't covered in blood and Riley was still okay. For now, anyways.

I flipped the water on as cold as I could get it and splashed my face. Icy rivulets ran down my cheeks and off my chin, drowning my fear with sheer glacial sensation.

Riley. I had to warn Riley.

I fumbled at the door knob with shaking hands. Then I went still. Okay. I could do this. Whenever Riley was in trouble or scared, she made plans and took things one step at a time. I could do that.

Step one, find a phone. Step two, call Riley and tell her not to come. Step three...well, I wasn't sure what was going to happen after that. But I had two steps, and I could do them.

Opening the bathroom door, I looked out over the sleeping Winchester brothers. There was an old fashioned clock, the kind that had the little numbers on slats that flipped down when they changed. It was sitting on the nightstand between the beds. I could still make out the numbers, though. Right now it was three in the morning.

Not that it mattered. If someone was calling Riley in the middle of the night, she would answer on sheer principle. She was just like that.

I snuck between the beds, having spotted a cellphone sitting not two inches from the clock. I didn't know who it belonged to, and I didn't care.

Swiping it off the table, I found Riley in the contacts. As I dialed, Dean spoke, scaring the crap out of me. "Mika." It was a semi-sleepy, curious growl. He didn't open his eyes or say anything else, and his arms remained crossed on top of his chest.

I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heart thumping wildly. "I'm calling Riley," I whispered, thinking he probably just wanted to know what I was doing. I moved back to the chair I'd slept in and sank down in it again.

The line clicked. "Dean?" Riley murmured sleepily.

"Riley," I choked out, suddenly having to tamp the panic down in my chest again.

"Mika? What's wrong?" she asked urgently, sleep gone from her voice. I could hear the kind of static-y rumble that came with talking on the phone inside of a moving car. She was already on her way.

"You can't come here." Silence followed. I chewed on my lip.

"Why not?" Riley demanded, sounding offended.

"Because if you come here, you're going to die." More silence. Then a soft murmur as she relayed the information to someone else, probably Finn.

"You saw this? Really saw it this time?" She sounded so calm. Almost as if I hadn't just told her about possibly dying. I didn't know how she did it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying very hard not to think of what I'd seen. Trying not to think of the various times I'd seen Riley's broken, bloody body. "Yes," I whispered. "Repeatedly."

There was a long pause. I knew Riley was thinking. She was trying to tackle the problem from all angles. But there was no outwitting what I'd seen. There was no scheming or luck that could stop that specific future, that much I knew.

"Are you safe?" she finally ground out, frustration making her words sharp.

I peeked up at the Winchesters. Dean was sitting up, watching me now. He'd heard what I'd said to Riley, then. I looked down at my lap. "Yes. I'll be okay. I'm with the Winchesters. Don't worry about me. Just...don't come. Please."

"Okay," she said quietly, earning a breath of relief from me. "I trust Sam and Dean. They'll help you."

"I know," I said, my voice tiny. She would have never let me near them had she not trusted them to do what she couldn't. My throat hurt and my eyes stung. "I miss you."

She sighed, managing to fill the sound with regret. "Miss you, too, Mika."

I hung up.

"You saw Riley die." It was Dean, and he wasn't asking a question.

I nodded, pressing my lips into a thin line.

"If she comes here, she'll die, and there's nothing anyone can do about it? Nothing _we_ can do about it?" His words were clipped and short. I didn't want to look up at him.

Closing my eyes, I relaxed and quieted my mind before bringing Riley to the forefront. The same feeling of dread I'd had watching Riley die swamped back, confirming his words. "Yes," I told him, slowly opening my eyes. "We can't stop it." I peeked up, glancing at him from behind my bangs. He looked deep in thought, not skeptical.

"You don't seem very surprised," I noted, wondering why. Missouri was the only other person I knew that treated my visions like they were perfectly normal. Riley tried, but I could tell they kind of worried her even as useful as they were.

His eyes coasted over to Sam, who was just starting to stir. "We've dealt with something like this before."

"Another psychic?" As far as I knew, Missouri didn't really divine the future very much. She mostly dealt with essences and spirits. Also, I was pretty sure she could at least partially read people's minds or maybe feelings.

Dean shrugged. "Something like that." He stood up and went to the bathroom, effectively ending the conversation.

Sam pushed himself up slightly, shoving the hair out of his face with a hand as he peered blearily at the clock. Then he let out a groan and flopped back down, burying his head in the pillow.

I felt the same way, only I knew what waited for me if I fell back asleep. I would have thought that after a month of watching death and carnage in my dreams, I would have been desensitized. But I wasn't. Like I said, it sucks.

Dean came back out of the bathroom a minute later. He pulled on his jacket then turned to me and then nodded, as if deciding something. "Grab your sweatshirt, we're going for a ride." I did as he said, pulling the stolen black sweatshirt on. Dean held out his hand, and I tossed him his cell phone. Glancing at Sam one last time, he unlocked the door, and we headed out.

I climbed into the Impala, feeling a trill of excitement. It was a cool car, and I was going to ride in it. I buckled up automatically, though Dean pulled a box of cassette tapes out from under the back seat and rummaged around a little. He finally selected one, tucking it in his pocket before starting the car. I watched curiously, not knowing what he'd chosen or why. Then I settled back into my seat and looked out the window as we pulled out of the parking lot. It was still dark, so the entire area was bathed in the cold tones of fluorescent lighting.

"Where are we going?" I asked after a minute.

Dean shrugged. "Out," was all he said.

I tucked my chin into my hand, watching the night lights stream past us as Dean accelerated. Finally the silence got to me, and I came up with a question just to break it. "You and Sam weren't that far away when I called. What were you doing?"

Dean glanced over. "Hunting a nest of vampires."

I flinched. I couldn't help it. Of course, it had to be vampires. The one type of monster that had so completely devastated me physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Dean's sharp eyes didn't miss my flinch, even though I tried to cover it up by looking down. Hooded green orbs stared my way, and I gazed studiously down at my lap. "The monsters up here—" he said, tapping the side of my head with finger, "—are only monsters if you let them stick around. You gotta get that shit out of your brain, because the more you let it stick around, the more it's going to screw with your head and drag you down."

I chewed on my thumbnail, nervously. He made it sound so easy, like I could just let go of the memories of what I went through.

"Pick something," he said, after a long minute of silence. "Anything. A person. A thing. A memory. Pick something and focus on that. Think about it so much that there isn't room for anything else. Eat it, breathe it, live it. Just think of it...until you don't need it anymore."

I shrugged and looked out the window, not meeting his eyes. I didn't know if I could think of something like that.

In a minute, it didn't even matter, because the heavy purr of the engine was soothing, in a thunderous kind of way. It was an easy sound to zone out to. Mostly I just stared out the window, wondering how the demon had found me or why he wanted me. The answer to the second one, though, was probably because I was psychic. How the demon had potentially known that was beyond me. Beyond that revelation, my mind just spun in blank little circles, providing no real answers.

A nudge from Dean startled me back into the present, and I looked over at him. He was holding out the cassette tape from earlier. I took it and after a quick glance pushed it into the old radio. _Sammy's Mix_ , the messy slanted scrawl proclaimed as it slid into place. The tape player whirred slightly, giving several old clicks and hisses before a slow beat thrummed to the speakers.

A drum of some kind. And some kind of horn or electronic piano. I waited, liking the beat and nodding a long.

"Don't worry...about a thing. 'Cause every little thing is going to be alright. Singing don't worry...about a thing. 'Cause every little thing is going to be alright," the singer crooned.

I looked over at Dean. He was smirking. "Bob Marley, 1977. Sam could listen to this for hours."

I smiled, feeling a little bit better in spite of myself and the situation.

I nestled my cheek in my arms, resting against the door. Dean cranked up the volume, and I let it drown out the latent anxiety that had plagued me since I'd woken up. "Don't worry...about a thing. 'Cause every little thing is going to be alright," Bob sang. I watched the lights stream by, mesmerized. "Don't worry...about a thing." The lights grew longer and fuzzier in my vision, and I watched, unable to tear my eyes away. The swarthy rumble of the engine droned on, working with the music to soothe my mind. Eventually my eyes slipped closed, and I fell asleep.

This time, I didn't dream.

The motel door opened, letting light stream into the room. I threw a hand over my eyes with a groan. Then I realized that I was not where I'd originally fallen asleep, and somehow, I was now back in the motel room on the bed.

A figure stood in the doorway, blocking some of the light. I squinted, bringing Dean into focus. He stepped into the room, two paper cups in his hand. I sat up, surveying my options. There were none. Dean had gotten coffee for Sam and hot chocolate for me. Apparently I wasn't deemed adult enough for a morning jumpstart. I didn't complain, though. I was broke, so a free drink was a free drink.

Sam got up and showered. I didn't feel the need to shower, so I made the bed in slow, precise movements. Dean offered me a knowing grin, and I scowled at him, more than slightly embarrassed that he'd tricked me into falling asleep and that I'd obviously had to be carried in from the car.

I took my hot chocolate off the nightstand and went to my backpack. Pulling out my notebook and sitting on the edge of the bed, I tried to sketch out some semblance of a plan. But I didn't even know where to start. Riley made this crap look easy. During the week on the run from the vampires, Riley had come up with some insane plans just by sitting at a table and munching on bacon. She'd sat down with no plan and stood up ready to kick vampire butt. But alas, I was not Riley and my pen hovered uselessly over the paper.

Sam came out of the bathroom as I was shoving my notebook back into my backpack. Brainstorming was a futile activity. I was way out of my depth here, and I knew it. I was like a sheep. Someone else would lead and I'd follow. Just like always.

"So what's the plan?" I asked hesitantly, loathingly cementing my sheep status.

Dean barely glanced at me. Instead, he and Sam locked eyes, communicating wordlessly. After what seemed like an entire conversation, Sam turned to me. He motioned to the pendant I wore. "As long as you keep that on, demons can't possess you. But that doesn't mean they'll stop looking for you. Any idea how the demon found you or even knew that you're psychic?"

No and no. Those were the same questions I'd been continually asking myself before I'd fallen asleep.

Irritatingly enough, when Sam asked it, something finally sparked in my brain.

I stared at him blankly, mentally backtracking. How _did_ that demon know who I was? Better yet, _what_ I was? Because, if I was being honest, that was probably the only reason he was after me. That narrowed things down, though, because there was a very short list of people who knew I was psychic. Riley. Finn. Sam. Dean. Missouri. Arthur. Jemma.

Of that list of people, Riley and Finn would never tell anyone what I was. Sam and Dean were here with me, and Riley trusted them to keep it a secret. If Riley trusted them, then I trusted them. Missouri wasn't the type for betrayal, not when she'd worked so tirelessly to teach me control and keep me from Jemma. That left Arthur and Jemma.

Arthur, my father, I knew very little about. Riley had met him. She'd told him I existed. He'd told Finn that he was willing to meet me. But after that, nothing. He hadn't called yet, if he was ever going to. I knew he didn't have my number, especially since I'd just ditched my latest phone. But he was like me. If he wanted to contact me, he would make it happen. More importantly, though, I didn't think he would go about advertising that he had a psychic daughter. Not when that would draw too much attention to himself.

Which left Jemma. Or maybe Bernie.

Back when I'd been looking for Arthur, I'd stayed with Bernie for a few nights. He'd known Jemma for a long time. I guess that's why he was able to answer my questions and tell me where to find Arthur. He'd also somehow guessed that I was psychic, because he flat-out asked me about it. That was right before the vampires took me. They'd killed Bernie on the way out. I'm not sure if he told them I was psychic, but they'd laughed when he asked for payment and then drained him of blood.

Either way, he'd probably told them, and they might have told someone else. Though, considering how hard they'd tried to keep me and then get me back, I'd be willing to go out on a limb and say I was a jealously guarded secret. Still...

"Do vampires and demons get along?" I asked, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "Because the vampires knew I was psychic. They wanted me to find...something for them. Could they have told that demon?"

Dean shook his head. "Not likely," he said gruffly, shutting down that train of thought. On the bright side, the vampires were all dead now, which lowered the number of people who knew my secret by a considerable amount.

I looked down at my socks, frowning. "Riley and Finn haven't told anyone. You and Sam haven't, right?" They confirmed it with raised eyebrows, probably offended that I'd even asked. "Missouri worked hard to keep me hidden, and I don't think my father would tell anyone either. That just leaves…"

Sam ran a hand across his jaw. "Jemma. That leaves Jemma."

I flinched, even though I'd already come to the same conclusion. Could it really be her? She didn't even know where I was. Plus, she was in prison. Ultimately, I wanted to say that Jemma would never work with a demon, but I couldn't.

I used to think that Jemma wanted what was best for me, that she was just a really strict, really protective mother. But after what I'd seen her do to Riley's family in my vision, I was starting to realize that maybe I didn't really know Jemma all that well. The way she'd raised Finn and then let him go versus the way she'd raised me and tried to get me back, it all seemed to point to one conclusion.

I'd never had to fight. Originally, I'd thought Jemma was just protecting me. And in a way, maybe she was. But that didn't change the fact that she had raised me to be next to useless.

She'd taught Finn everything, had crafted him into a kick-ass Hunter. And in the end, he'd left her at the first chance possible. So she'd learned, and the second time around, she'd made a different decision. I'd done research and nothing else. My lack of Hunting experience was probably her way of keeping me dependent on her. She'd shown me what was out there and had made sure I knew how dangerous life could be. She'd let me grow up not knowing if I could actually hold my own against the very monsters that I knew inside and out.

She'd also let me think that I was a freak for having visions. She'd made me think that if anyone found out, they'd try to use me or kill me. Which wasn't all wrong. Bernie had most likely sold me to vampires who had then tried to use me. But it wasn't one hundred percent right, either. Riley and Sam and Dean...they hadn't done that. They'd put their lives on the line for me before _and_ after they'd realized I was psychic. Not only that, but they'd tried to teach me how to protect myself and sent me to someone who could help me.

Jemma had only ever tried to keep me with her. The more I thought about it, the more I realized she wanted my visions. And, from her interactions with Riley, I knew there wasn't a lot she wouldn't do to get me back. Including trying to torture Riley with a hex bag. On that note, hex bags could only be used by witches, which meant Jemma wasn't above consorting with monsters to get me back.

I stared at the Winchesters, feeling small. "Do you think Jemma would work with a demon? Do demons even work with people?"

Sam and Dean stared down at me, faces not betraying anything. Sam's forehead wrinkled. "They don't," he said haltingly. "Unless…" He pulled out his phone, typing something in. "Riley framed Jemma on a military base, which means Jemma would have been sent somewhere with high security. Virginia's only maximum security prison is Red Onion State Prison, which, get this...was built starting in 1995. The land was donated by a coal company, because it was in the middle of nowhere, and...damn it."

He looked up at Dean, face tight. "The southeast courtyard sits squarely on a crossroad."

I didn't know what that meant, but apparently Dean did. He spun, slamming his hand down on the table. "Son of a bitch," he snapped angrily. "First, she hooks up with a witch, and now a crossroads demon. How the hell does someone in maximum security get access to a black cat's bone and yarrow? Or even have the time to set up the freaking deal?"

Dean paced away, then back. "Selling her fucking soul to what, to—"

"Dude," Sam hissed in a tight voice, tipping his head towards me meaningfully, "take it down a notch."

Dean came to an abrupt standstill. "Sam, why would she send a demon after Mika if she didn't have a plan in place for after it brings Mika back?"

Sam froze, too. They traded guarded looks. "Unless…"

"Unless part of the deal was to get her out," Dean finished.

They looked at me simultaneously. I stared back, eyes wide.

I felt kind of empty inside. Sold her soul? Out of prison? The possibility of Jemma working with a demon, trying to get out of prison and get me back—it should have made me mad or scared or something. But I didn't feel anything, just numb.

I'd thought putting Jemma in prison would end things. Riley's family would be safe; I'd be free to choose the kind of life I wanted. But now a demon had come after me, and Jemma might not even be in prison anymore. I looked down at my feet, staring at a scuff mark on the toe of my left boot. "She's never going to stop, no matter what it costs or who gets hurt," I said dully, knowing it was true.

Sam and Dean didn't look surprised at my statement. They probably saw my mother in the same way that Riley did.

A feeling started percolating in my brain, cold and cancerous and premonitory. One demon wasn't the end. More were coming. Whatever deal my mother had made, it was still happening.

I sucked in a deep breath, feeling like Jemma was backing us all into a corner. My mouth was suddenly dry, and my stomach lurched with a sick feeling as I settled on the only remaining option I could think of. Jemma was willing to sell her soul to get me back. How do you stop someone who will do anything to get her way?

I licked my lips, trying to work up the courage to say the words. They came out in a whisper, sounding dark and husky. "Does this...does this mean we have to kill her?"

Two sets of remarkably different hazel eyes settled on me, crushing me under their thoughtful weight. But the brothers were saved from answering when a knock sounded at the door.


End file.
